A Raining Sun of Light and Love For You and You and You

On its first official studio release the neo-kosmische Brooklyn band draws inspiration from turn-of-the-70s progressive psychedelia.

Titan is a Brooklyn quartet into excavating late-1960s/early-70s progressive psychedelia. Along with mostly instrumental incense burners comes attendant throwback imagery-- note the suitable-for-black-light mushroom and freehand lettering that melts across the CD's inner flaps-- and long titles to match reasonably lengthy songs. Really, no need to dig further than the title, A Raining Sun of Light and Love For You and You and You, to find those ingredients displayed.

To get a good sense of the sound of the four atmospherically analog boogie bongs on Titan's first non-CD-R studio recording project, skim the instrumentation listed at the band's MySpace page. Adding some DayGlo flesh to the drums, guitar, and Fender Jazz bass are a parade of synthesizers and pedals. It's the sorta stuff that makes kids who've never heard Hawkwind or Amon Düül II yell, "Hawkwind and Amon Düül II!" (sometimes adding Ash Ra Tempel because it appears on the label's cover sticker).

In my teens I went through a severe psych era, aided by walks to the now-defunct Sound On Sound records in Highland Park, NJ and hitched rides to the Princeton Record Exchange. At that time, anything even slightly swirly, extended, or stinking of pot (or Wayne Rogers) was purchased. As a result, I have the record collection of a geeky senior citizen, including hundreds of albums from the period Titan loves as well as post-70s players who've shared that fixation. Closing my eyes, opening my ears, and placing A Raining Sun of Light in that context, I'd say it lands somewhere in the lower middle of the other revivalists.

Which is too bad. The record actually begins more than promisingly. At the onset, "Annals of the Former World"'s out-of-phase, pseudo-sacred vocals and pastoral acoustic guitar warp into a tripped Can freak-out in the course of ten truly compelling minutes. It's a beaut. Or fast-forward to the album's final seconds when the acoustic spire returns after the sounds of crickets and a truck, a tinny micro-jamboree from outer nowhere. What happens in between?

There are other successful turns of phase, but across 42 minutes of Comets on Fire on Acid echo rides, projectile Neu! vomits, flanged crescendos, and some right pretty guitars (respect), an uninspired sameness eclipses the proficiency. Ultimately it's the less polished, odd rumblings that stay with you, start to feel like a tease beneath the weight of a too-well-oiled juggernaut. The players are obviously compatible and technically astute, but on the whole the collection isn't specific or individual (or warped or weird) enough to inspire return trips. Dudes need to spring more leaks.